


Forgiven

by graphic_winged_observer



Series: Within the Walls of 221b [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Dreams, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graphic_winged_observer/pseuds/graphic_winged_observer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For months Sherlock said he was sorry, months he had been working to regain John’s trust. He had no idea that he’d been forgiven weeks ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostPoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostPoe/gifts).



> The characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson created by Sir Author Conan Doyle.  
> The setting of Sherlock (BBC) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.  
> I do not own these characters, I’m just borrowing them for this idea.

Dripping with sweat and breathing heavily, John sat up shakily in his bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and released an extremely shaky breath. He’d been used to the nightmares with Sherlock, in their many variations; only occasionally would there be one from the war, but these were something else. He used to get night terrors as a child, but they had become few and far between as he’d grown older...now they were back.  
  
He wiped sweat and tears from his cheeks and stood from his bed, wobbling slightly as his limp reared its ugly head. John ignored his cane and made his way downstairs, as quietly as he could. He needed to see him. It had been a little over four months since Sherlock had returned to Baker Street and John was sure it was this man that had thrown his nightmare ridden brain into overdrive.  
  
John reached the landing and his leg nearly buckled beneath him, protesting against him. He caught himself on the banister and forced himself to stand upright. John peered into the sitting room and found him lying on the couch, still as a statue save the gentle rise and fall of his chest that let John know he was in fact alive.  
  
“Sherlock,” he whispered with a breath he had no idea he was holding. His voice was low enough that John didn’t disturb his...was friend still the appropriate thing to call him? John knew why Sherlock had done what he did, but he still had trouble accepting that Sherlock had made John bury yet another friend.  
  
Dying firelight was the only source of light in the room and it darkened the hollows of Sherlock’s cheeks and highlighted his cheekbones, casting a strange orange glow on his pale skin. John stood in the doorway, carefully stepping around the creak spots in the old wood boards that would give him away. In this light, John was finding it very easy to forgive the man before him; not that he’d tell Sherlock that, internally enjoying the struggle Sherlock had to gain his trust back; though he already had it.  
  
The sudden feeling of being watched hit Sherlock and his brow furrowed before he opened his eyes and leaned his head back to peer at John from the armrest. “Are you all right, John?” he asked in a too quiet voice. Sherlock had been tiptoeing around John quite a bit, careful in the words he chose and the moves he made, especially since John punched him when he’d first returned.  
  
“Bad dream is all,” John replied, equally as quiet. He smirked as Sherlock averted his gaze, guessing what the dream had entailed. John stepped forward and knelt by Sherlock’s head, snagging a pillow on his way down and resting his knees on it. The detective cast him a sideways glance, moving his head away fractionally. John stopped him with a gentle hand against his jaw. Sherlock started at the motion but John simply placed his other arm across Sherlock and placed his hand over his heart; feeling the steady beat there.  
  
Sherlock stilled at the whole encounter, completely unsure of what was happening. “John...?” he asked after several minutes.  
  
“Just making sure you’re really alive,” he replied, tracing Sherlock jaw with a gentle finger. Seconds stretched into minutes as both of John’s hands worked little massaging circles into Sherlock’s flesh. He placed a gentle hand over John’s and stilled the action over his heart.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered for the hundredth time.  
  
John smirked and laid a gentle kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “I know you are,” he whispered. “I know.” John placed a number of small kisses along his strong jaw before leaning up and placing his lips full on Sherlock’s and kissing him deeply. His left hand suddenly tugging at dark curls and his tongue begging for entry. The passion in their kiss said everything they hadn’t been able to say over the past three years.  
  
John broke the kiss saying, “I forgave you weeks ago.”


End file.
